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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771769">Far Across the Q-niverse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalmind/pseuds/literalmind'>literalmind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but everything with Q is kind of crack), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism Spectrum, Data adopts a child, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I really suck at titles and summaries I'm sorry, Or rather a child adopts Data, Picard hates kids but is secretly soft, Q Continuum, Surprise Parenthood, Time Travel, basically the whole ship adopts this kid, dad fic, starts like crack but isn't, the old codger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:09:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalmind/pseuds/literalmind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>To annoy Picard, Q snatches a 9-year-old autistic girl from 2008 and drops her on the Enterprise. She immediately takes to Data, who is unprepared for parenthood but quite willing to give it a try. Q finds himself oddly drawn to the child as well. Trickster, android and child find themselves learning from one another about what it means to be human.</p><p>Begins in early Season 3 and will continue through Season 7 and, hopefully, the movies.</p><p>A tale of found family, shenanigans, and being imperfectly human.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Data &amp; Geordi La Forge, Data &amp; Original Child Character(s), Data &amp; Q (Star Trek), Q &amp; Original Child Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fun Will Now Commence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, after a year of writing <i>~absolutely nothing~</i>, I caught the fanfic bug again. This is my first Star Trek fic! I'm doing a lot of research to try and stick to canon as much as I can (where applicable, since it <i>is</i> an AU). If you spot any canonical errors, please let me know!</p><p>(Just a note: I know I've written Q as somewhat unlikeable at first. I love my omnipotent space Loki very much, but he can absolutely be an asshole sometimes, and I don't want to gloss over that. Plus it'll help with his character development I'm planning down the line.)</p><p>If you like this story, please comment and leave kudos! It's really encouraging to get feedback! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> <strong>Chapter 1: Fun Will Now Commence</strong></p><p> </p><p><em>Captain’s Log, stardate 43161.2. I have received an urgent voice-only message from Captain Nilssen of our sister ship, the </em>U.S.S. Challenger<em>, via a heavily encrypted subspace channel. She claims to have gained some very troubling and highly classified intelligence regarding the Romulan Empire, too sensitive to be relayed via subspace, and requests a rendezvous in order to give me this information in person. We are to then carry this intelligence back to Starfleet Headquarters with all possible speed. The </em>Enterprise <em>is now en-route to the rendezvous point just outside of the Neutral Zone. </em></p><p>
  <em>To say that I am wary of such a message is an understatement. Still, it is hardly a claim I am able to ignore; nor can I risk contacting Nilssen to confirm, given the probability of Romulan surveillance of all subspace communication. We are proceeding with extreme caution.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>~****~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I am that merry wanderer of the night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I jest to Oberon and make him smile</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Neighing in likeness of a filly foal.</em>
</p><p>Captain Picard resettled himself in his chair and turned the page.</p><p>“Riker to Picard. We’ve arrived at the rendezvous coordinates, but the <em>Challenger</em> isn’t here.” Picard frowned and shut the <em>Annotated Shakespeare</em> with a snap. He had been afraid of this, but half-expecting it. “That is troubling, Number One. Raise shields and ready phasers and go to Yellow Alert. I’ll be right there.” He stood and straightened his uniform, then crossed to the end table, quickly but carefully setting the beloved book on its stand and replacing the glass cover over it. With three quick strides he was through the ready room doors and on the Bridge.</p><p>“Captain on the Bridge!” Commander Riker nodded in greeting. “Think it’s a trap?”</p><p>“I think it’s somewhat likely,” the captain answered dryly, striding to his usual position in the center of the Bridge. Riker chuckled. “So do I. Should we go to Red Alert?”</p><p>“No, Yellow Alert will suffice for now.” Picard gazed thoughtfully at the empty space on the viewscreen. “If it’s not a trap, and Nilssen <em>does</em> have sensitive intelligence…” He rubbed his chin.</p><p>“I know. This could be big. Could make you an admiral,” Riker said, only half-joking. “Still, I think it’s much more likely that this is some kind of Romulan ruse.”</p><p>“Agreed, Number One,” Picard nodded, moving to sit in the captain’s chair. “We should be prepa—"</p><p><em>PPPPPFFFFFFFFTTTTT</em>.</p><p>As the captain sat, his words were drowned out by the long, loud sounds of explosive flatulence, emanating from the captain himself. Everyone on the Bridge turned to stare; Riker’s eyes went wide with shock and amusement, and Data cocked his head questioningly. Picard leapt up as if burned. He looked absolutely scandalized as the unmistakable odor of bodily gases began to permeate the deck. Riker raised an eyebrow. “Bolian stew for dinner last night, sir?” He was clearly fighting back a grin.</p><p>“I—that was <em>not</em> my doing,” Picard stated firmly, his eyes immediately going to the chair to search for the cause of the noise. He didn’t have to look hard: lying on the seat was a small, red, circular object. It looked rather like a flattened balloon, and it most certainly had not been there before he’d sat down. “There—what is this?” As he lifted the unfamiliar object, a white flash (all <em>too</em> familiar) lit the Bridge and disappeared, revealing a tall man in an admiral’s uniform in its place, perched on the railing behind the First Officer’s chair.</p><p>Picard gritted his teeth. “Q,” he ground out. “What is the meaning of this…this childish prank?!”</p><p>Q was lounging on the narrow railing in a sprawling position that would have been impossible for him to maintain, had he truly been human. “Ah, Mon Capitaine, you wound me,” he drawled, amusement lacing his tone. “You don’t approve of my little joke? It’s a piece of your own species’ past, after all.”</p><p>“No, Q, I do<em> not </em>approve,” growled Picard. “This is an extremely tenuous situation as it is. A visit from <em>you</em> is the last thing we need.”</p><p>Q smirked. “Oh, you mean those Romulans that were waiting to ambush you?” Picard and Riker glanced at each other with expressions of grim satisfaction. “Don’t worry, Picard, I did you a favor and…relocated them.”</p><p>“’Relocated them,’” echoed the captain. “To where, Q?” The trickster gave him a sly grin. “Back to Romulus, of course. Where else? I’m sure their superiors won’t be happy to see them.” Riker let out a breath, puffing out his cheeks. “That’s probably an understatement,” he muttered.</p><p>Picard’s lips thinned, but he didn’t press the issue. He could hardly object that Q had sent the Romulans back to their home planet, thereby saving the <em>Enterprise</em> from what would probably have been a long and bloody battle. At least Q hadn’t “relocated” the warbirds to an area where they could be a danger to the Federation. He sighed. “All right. I’ll indulge you in the conversation you so clearly want. I take it that <em>this</em>—” he gave the deflated object in his hand a small, emphatic shake, “—is something from Earth’s history?”</p><p>Q swung his legs over the railing and stood, straightening his uniform. “Yes. You see, Jean-Luc, your previous attacks on my character cut me to the quick. I thought long and hard about what you’ve said, and I realized that you’re right—I <em>do</em> subject beings to cruel and unusual torments!” He placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward in mock earnestness. “That’s why I’ve decided to limit myself to mere harmless pranks from now on. And I thought I’d start by experimenting with some classic practical jokes from your own history!” He pointed dramatically to the red thing in the captain’s hands. “That is a marvelous little device known as a <em>whoopie cushion</em>. Crude and primitive, yet it gets the job done—namely, to simulate flatulence when sat upon.”</p><p>Picard studied the cushion with a bit more interest than before. “Yes, I recall reading about these once,” he said. “They operated upon the simple workings of air and valves.” He raised his eyes to Q and lifted an eyebrow. “But I don’t recall reading that <em>odor</em> was included. Or invisibility.” Q waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I just improved upon it a little. <em>No biggie</em>, as you humans used to say when these little things were popular. Well, more or less. Within a century or so.” He turned his head, smiling unpleasantly, to look at Worf, who was manning the tactical station beside him and wearing an expression that suggested barely-suppressed homicidal rage. “Hello, Commander Worf! Still haven’t made amends with your cousin the Sasquatch?” The Security Chief curled his lip but otherwise ignored the jibe.</p><p>The captain scowled at the trickster. “And to get rid of the smell? Would that be <em>no biggie</em> for you, either?” The odor hadn’t lessened one bit since first released. If anything, it had intensified. Q quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Of course, Mon Capitaine. But where’s the fun in that?” Picard pinched the bridge of his nose, as he so often found himself doing when Q was around. The object of his annoyance straightened up and began to pace around the Bridge.</p><p>“Yes, Captain, human history is such a wonderful repository of practical jokes. I only regret not having researched it before. I have all sorts of ideas for new jokes to play on y—on beings across the universe, and you have the unique distinction of being my test subject! Unfortunately, I can’t place a bucket of liquid on top of a door, or I would have booby-trapped your ready room with a large container of your beloved tea, Earl Grey, hot. But this was—”</p><p>“I thought you said you were confining yourself to <em>harmless</em> pranks, Q,” Riker interrupted. “Dumping a bucket of scalding tea on someone’s head is not harmless.”</p><p>Q looked affronted at the interruption. “Oh, I do apologize. I forgot human skin was so delicate,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “All right, tea, Earl Grey, partially frozen. But as I was saying, this seemed like such a good, classic prank to start out with. Really, I’m <em>surprised</em> at you, Jean-Luc! I thought you’d appreciate my turning over a new leaf.” He stopped walking and stood facing one of the computer panels on the back wall, hands clasped behind his back. The ensign at the station darted nervous glances over her shoulder and edged to the right, out of his way.</p><p>Picard sighed deeply. “Q, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the idea,” he began, adopting a slightly more diplomatic tone, “it’s just that…frankly, I don’t believe you truly intend to ‘turn over a new leaf.’” Q spun around, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically, his mouth open in an over-the-top show of shock. “You don’t <em>believe</em> me?!” he gasped. “Oh, Jean-<em>Luc</em>, why do you hurt me so?” The captain stared back at him, stone-faced. When nobody showed any sign of reacting to Q’s theatrics, the trickster sighed and dropped his hand. “Fine. You know, you’re right. It was a foolish idea anyway—why should I perform such primitive tricks when I can do <em>so much better</em>?” His mouth stretched into a huge, impish grin as he spoke these words. Everyone looked horrified, except for Data, who merely blinked curiously.</p><p>“Wait, Q—” Riker began hastily, but Q held up a hand. “Tsk, tsk, Number One, I’m thinking.” He tapped one long finger to the cleft in his chin, pretending to consider. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ah! I know—since we’re talking about things from 20<sup>th</sup> century Earth, how about I bring someone to weigh in on the matter?” He turned the grin on Picard. “Someone…qualified. How about a child? I know how you just <em>love</em> children.”</p><p>The captain’s face had paled almost imperceptibly. “Surely even <em>you</em> couldn’t tear a person from the 20<sup>th</sup> century to the 24<sup>th</sup>,” he said, his voice low and steady but laced with uncertainty. “And surely even you wouldn’t harm an innocent child.” Q’s grin widened even more, and he arched a brow. “Oh, couldn’t I?” Picard’s eyes widened at his tone. “No, Q! You can’t. You could destroy the timeline! Centuries of progress, of <em>life</em>, wiped from existence—you mustn’t!”</p><p>Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You people and your obsession with ‘the timeline.’ Do you know how many times your lauded Captain Kirk jumped around through the centuries? And did he ever ‘destroy the timeline?’ No!”</p><p>“Actually,” Data began, but Q steamrollered over him. “Time isn’t the fragile thing you people make it out to be, you know. It’s like a living organism—it heals itself, as evidenced by the fact that no disasters occurred as a result of Kirk’s temporal meddling. Oh, and I would hardly be harming anyone. The kid won’t feel a thing.”</p><p>“In fact,” Data tried again, but before he could point out that disaster <em>had</em>, in fact, occurred as a result of Kirk’s temporal meddling, the trickster raised a hand and snapped his fingers loudly.</p><p>The sound of the snap seemed to echo around the deck, distorting as it repeated over and over again. There was a bright flash of white light in the center of the Bridge, lasting longer than Q’s flashes usually did; when it subsided, leaving everyone blinking, in its place stood a small child with shoulder-length brown hair. She stared confusedly around with wide, anxious brown eyes. Her clothes, to the best of the knowledge of everyone present, were indicative of the late 20<sup>th </sup>or early 21<sup>st</sup> centuries—a loose green “t-shirt,” denim pants, black sports shoes. She was holding a small plate, which she promptly dropped. It cracked in two as it hit the floor.</p><p>Picard drew in a deep breath. “<em>Q!</em>” he exploded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Oh My God, Gracie, You Can’t Just Ask People Why They’re White</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this chapter is a little rough, but I'm still getting back into the writing groove, so please bear with me! </p><p>Many thanks to my lovely friend and beta, Steve Rogers*, for her help in wording some particularly tricky sentences. &lt;3</p><p>And many thanks to everyone who has left kudos!</p><p>*named changed to protect privacy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 2: Oh My God, Gracie, You Can’t Just Ask People Why They’re White</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Gracie was confused. Confused and terrified.</p><p>One second she had been in the kitchen, about to make herself an after-school snack before starting on her homework. The next second she was somewhere completely different—a large, bright room that she had never seen before, filled with unfamiliar adults wearing strange clothes. It was as if, between one breath and the next, the whole of reality had simply changed around her, like swapping backgrounds on a computer. So, Gracie did what she always did when scared and confused: she started observing and analyzing her surroundings. It was something she had begun doing years ago in an attempt to emulate her all-time hero, Sherlock Holmes, and she had discovered it was also an excellent way to take her mind off her emotions and keep panic attacks at bay. (It didn’t always work, but she always tried anyway.)</p><p>Directly in front of her, a bald man in a red—shirt? Jumpsuit? What kind of outfit <em>was</em> that?—was shouting at a much taller man in the same clothes. The tall man had wild hair that looked like he’d stuck his finger in a socket, and he was smiling. The bald man was <em>not</em> smiling. His face was screwed up and he was gesturing toward Gracie; he seemed extremely angry about something. Gracie didn’t like that. Unpleasant things tended to happen when people were angry. This was someone to avoid if possible.</p><p>She lifted her eyes further and saw a tall, bearded man behind the arguing pair. The bearded man was also wearing that odd red-and-black outfit. Surely it was a uniform of some kind, then? There were padded chairs behind him, nestled against a level change in the room. Behind that, in turn, was a very tall black guy, on the higher slope of the room and with a curved wooden railing in front of him. He was wearing a yellow version of the uniform and a shiny sash, and he had a very large…a very large…forehead…</p><p><em>Wait. What?!</em> She squinted, as if that would allow her eyes to zoom in. The yellow uniform guy had <em>ridges</em> on his forehead! Big, pointy ridges…!</p><p>This was too much. Too much going on. She couldn’t process it anymore. Analysis wouldn’t do any good when the situation she was analyzing was this crazy. Gracie’s breath began to come in short gasps, and she started easing backward, hoping everyone was too busy watching the two men fight to notice her leaving. She had to get out of here. She had to get out of here <em>right now</em> and get back home—</p><p>“Please do not continue to move backwards. You will collide with the viewscreen in approximately ten and one-quarter steps.” A calm male voice stopped Gracie in her tracks. She whipped her head around to find its source. There, slightly in front of her and to her right, sat an extremely pale man at some kind of desk or console, wearing yellow. She’d been so focused on the people directly in front of her that she hadn’t even noticed anything in her peripheral vision. Gracie stared at him. She felt like her eyes must be practically bugging out of her head, but she was too freaked out to care.</p><p>“W-what…where…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. There were so many questions, she couldn’t get any of them out. “Where am I?” Now that she’d managed to get one sentence out, the rest came tumbling after. “What happened? Who are you people? What is <em>that</em> guy?!” Gracie pointed at the man with the ridges as her panic (briefly diminished by having something to focus on) returning with a vengeance. “And what are <em>you</em>?! Why are you so white?!”</p><p>She willed herself to focus once more on the pale man in front of her, grasping for a lifeboat on the sea of sensory overload in which she was drowning. In that moment, he was the only thing that mattered: if anything else joined them on the lifeboat, it would sink. Gracie simply stared at his face without blinking, allowing the rest of the room to fade away, and hoped he had some answers that could bring her back to solid ground.</p><p>The pale man tilted his head, a jerky kind of motion that didn’t seem quite right, somehow. He answered in the same calm, mild tone that he had first spoken in. “You are on the Bridge of the Federation starship <em>Enterprise</em>. You were, I am assuming, given Q’s words about ‘temporal meddling’ prior to your appearance, brought here from 20<sup>th</sup> century Earth by the omnipotent being known as ‘Q.’” He nodded toward the two arguing men, though which he was referring to, Gracie had no idea. She furrowed her brow, trying to process the pale man’s words, but before she could fully digest the implied <em>time travel</em>, he had moved on.</p><p>“I assume that by ‘you people’ you mean everyone in your visual range,” he continued. “We are members of the <em>Enterprise</em>’s Bridge crew. As for Commander Worf—the person you indicated—he is Chief of Security, though as you were likely referring to his nonhuman features, I should specify that he is a Klingon. Klingons are a warlike species originating from the planet Qo’noS,” the man explained, evidently thinking that this would be helpful. Gracie could only stare at him, mouth agape.</p><p>“Finally, as for myself, I am Lieutenant Commander Data. I am an android.” Now, <em>that</em> was a more easily understandable piece of information. Gracie looked at him more closely. “You’re a robot?!”</p><p>“No, I am an android. There is a difference.”</p><p>“Oh. Sorry.” She studied his face, fascinated. She’d never seen such a lifelike robot—or rather, android—before. It was absolutely incredible. So incredible that for a moment, she almost forgot about everything else.</p><p>Suddenly, his previous words clicked in her head. “Wait. You said…you said I’m on a…<em>starship</em>? I’m…<em>in</em> <em>space</em>?! In the <em>future</em>?!”</p><p>“That is correct.” Gracie jumped. The bald man was no longer yelling at the tall guy, who must have left, because he was nowhere to be seen. He had now approached Gracie as she studied the android—Data, he’d said his name was—without her noticing. She shrank back. He wasn’t extraordinarily tall, but he was very intimidating, especially given the fact that he had just spent the better part of five minutes loudly chewing someone out. His posh-sounding English accent only served to add to the intimidation factor.</p><p>The man seemed to notice how nervous he was making her and took a step back, standing several feet away and holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I apologize for the circumstances. You must be very confused, Miss…?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly.</p><p>“Gracie. Gracie H-Hartwell.” Her voice was starting to tremble a little.</p><p>“Miss Hartwell. I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the <em>U.S.S. Enterprise. </em>You have been brought here by a very powerful being who, apparently, saw fit to displace a child centuries out of time in order to prove a point. I am sorry for the mayhem and confusion, but please know that you are perfectly safe.” The captain’s face and voice were not unkind, but they were far from the mild manner of Data, and Gracie couldn’t forget how incredibly angry he’d looked when she first saw him. He seemed highly uncomfortable now, too. She trusted him—he seemed quite trustworthy—but she wasn’t sure how much she liked him, yet.</p><p>“So I’m…I’m really in space?” Gracie knew she was repeating herself, but she couldn’t get over that bit of information.             Some part of her thought this had to be some kind of elaborate hoax. Time travel? Spaceships? Surely it couldn’t be real! Could someone have hit her on the head and kidnapped her? Or was she just dreaming? But then, if she was dreaming, why couldn’t she remember falling asleep? The overwhelming fear began to creep back over her.</p><p>Captain Picard’s expression became simultaneously softer and more annoyed. “Indeed. See for yourself.” He pointed to something behind her. Gracie turned and froze, her breath leaving her with a whoosh. Most of the back (front? Surely the front, as everyone was facing that way) wall was taken up with an enormous window, outside of which was…space. An endless expanse of inky blackness, glittering with diamond-like stars, stretching on forever and ever. The panic that had been threatening to overcome her vanished like mist in the afternoon sun.</p><p>It was the most beautiful sight she had ever laid eyes on.</p><p>She didn’t know how long she stood there, awestruck, staring at the window with her mouth hanging open. It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes before the captain’s voice brought her back to herself. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he asked in a low voice, his tone much softer than before. “Always mankind has endeavored to be here, among the stars, reaching out into the great unknown. And now that we <em>are</em> here, still we reach out—always looking ahead, to the future, to distant planets.” Gracie turned back to face him, eyes shining, and saw a wistful, longing expression on the captain’s face. “If we didn’t look ahead, we’d never get anywhere,” she whispered. Right now, she wanted to fly, to pick one of those sparkling points of light and not stop until she reached it. Picard’s eyebrows lifted a tiny fraction.</p><p>“Too right, we wouldn’t,” said the bearded man, who had stepped forward to stand next to the captain. “You’re a sharp kid, Miss Hartwell. I’m Commander Riker, by the way, Captain Picard’s First Officer. You can call me Will.” He flashed her a winning smile. Gracie couldn’t help but smile back; he seemed so much warmer than the captain. “I bet you’re a born explorer. You’re in good company. Well, except Ensign Sorak back there—<em>terrible </em>sense of humor,” Riker added in a stage whisper, jerking a thumb behind him and pulling a face. Gracie giggled.</p><p>Picard gave him an approving nod. “Miss Hartwell, I’m afraid we must discuss your situation,” he said, turning back to her. “I’m sure you’re still rather in shock, but we must find a way to return you to your own time as quickly as possible. The longer you are here, the more chance there is for something to go wrong with the timeline.” Gracie’s face fell in dismay, but she nodded. “I-I understand.” Picard nodded once more and tapped the funny insignia on his chest, which made a little chirping noise. “Senior staff to the briefing room. Q has crossed a line this time. We need to discuss it.” The captain sighed slightly and held out a hand to one of the doors on the back wall. “If you’ll step this way, please, Miss Hartwell. Mr. Data?”</p><p>Data stood and held out his hand to Gracie, who took it without hesitation. Of all the people on the <em>Enterprise</em> so far, she liked and trusted him the most. Something about his calm voice made her feel safe. Commander Riker also tapped his insignia and started listing names, telling them to report to the Bridge, while Picard, Data and Gracie stepped through the door on the back wall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hi, My Name Is...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beginning in this chapter, I'm experimenting with 3rd person omniscient POV, which I've only used rarely in the past (so it may be a little clumsy for now). I'm planning on future chapters to be a mixture of the limited and omniscient 3rd person, with the limited being mainly Gracie's POV. Please let me know what you think in the comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>Chapter 3: Hi, My Name Is...</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Picard, Data and Gracie sat at the conference table and waited for the others to arrive. Gracie had hung back at first; the captain thought she must be baffled by the table, for some odd reason, but then he saw she had been waiting for Data to sit down. She wanted to sit beside the android, he realized. Not for the first time, he wondered why children seemed so drawn to Data. There had been that alien girl from a pre-warp planet some months back…</p><p>Data looked from the captain, who was staring musingly at the girl with his hands steepled in front of his mouth, to Gracie, who seemed to be avoiding looking at Picard but darting nervous, sideways glances in his direction. Her body language suggested that she was uncomfortable. Discomfort was not good for any humanoid, least of all children, so Data endeavored to make her more at ease. “Small talk” would serve to both distract Gracie from her nervousness and help them learn more about her.</p><p>“Miss Hartwell—” Data paused with his mouth open as a thought occurred to him. “Would you prefer to be addressed as ‘Gracie?’”</p><p>The girl shrugged. “I guess so? I usually only get called Miss Hartwell if I’m in trouble at school.” The corners of Picard’s mouth twitched.</p><p>“Ah.” Data nodded. “Gracie, what is your age? Tell me about yourself.” Data had observed that the line “tell me about yourself” was often used as an “icebreaker,” and had witnessed its success several times, so he did not understand why the girl seemed to be confused. She looked from him to the captain and back again. “For example: your place of origin, your family, your likes and dislikes, or your aspirations,” the android elaborated. “Was that particular phrase not in use in the 20<sup>th</sup> century?”</p><p>“Uh…well, I’m nine and a half…” Gracie glanced at Captain Picard, who did his best to nod in an encouraging way. “And I’m from Ohio, and… and we use that phrase, I just…wasn’t expecting you to ask. I…I…” She looked down at her hands, picking at a hangnail. “I don’t really know what to say,” she mumbled. She hated classroom icebreakers like that. It was always <em>Give one interesting fact about yourself! </em>or <em>Tell the class what you want to be when you grow up! </em>She never knew what to say to such questions. What if you weren’t sure what constituted an “interesting fact,” or you didn’t <em>know</em> what you wanted to be when you grew up?</p><p>Data cocked his head, wondering how his question had made things worse. “I am sorry. I did not intend to cause you greater discomfort—my question was in fact intended to facilitate ‘small talk’ and distract you from your nervousness.” Gracie looked up from her hands and smiled crookedly. “That’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not good at stuff like that.”</p><p>At this juncture, the briefing room doors slid open, admitting Riker and Worf. “I’ve turned command of the bridge over to Lieutenant Tanner,” Riker informed the captain. “The others are on their way.” Picard nodded. “Very good, Number One. Have a seat. Mr. Worf,” he greeted the security officer, who nodded back tersely as he sat. The Klingon didn’t miss the way the child’s shoulders tensed at his presence. He had seen her panic upon noticing him on the Bridge, and so chose the seat farthest from her in the hopes that her fear would be lessened. But he kept an eye on her, nonetheless—her presence was a result of Q’s tricks, and anything connected with Q was a possible security risk.</p><p>Riker sat directly across from Gracie and smiled kindly at her. “How you holding up, kid?”</p><p>“Not bad, I guess,” the girl replied with an answering smile. It was really impossible not to smile back when Will Riker grinned at you. “So where do you come—?” Riker started to ask, but was interrupted by the hiss of the doors as two women, a brunette and a redhead, entered the room. They had been snickering at something one of them had said, but they stopped short when they noticed the small figure next to Data. “Jean-Luc…?” the redhead asked confusedly.</p><p>“Ah,” said the captain, realizing that he hadn’t elaborated on Q’s actions over the comms. “Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi, this young lady is Gracie Hartwell. Q has brought her here from 20<sup>th</sup> century Earth. At least, we’ve been assuming the 20<sup>th</sup> century,” he added thoughtfully. “Miss Hartwell, what year was it before you found yourself here?”</p><p>“2008,” she answered in a small voice. Picard nodded. “The 21<sup>st</sup> century, then. Q wanted to prove a point, I think—though what that point was, precisely, only he knows,” he added in exasperation. The dark-haired woman frowned and moved around the table to sit next to the girl, while the other one sat across from her next to Riker. “Hello, Gracie, I’m Deanna,” the counselor introduced herself gently. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I know you’re very confused and scared.” She rested a sympathetic hand on Gracie’s; but with this action, the girl’s anxiety spiked even more, so Troi simply patted the arm of her chair and smiled softly at her.</p><p>“And I’m Dr. Crusher,” said the redhead. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure we’ll have you back home in no time at all.” She shot a look at Picard as she said this. “Geordi’s on his way up; I’m sure he’ll come up with something.” Picard’s lips thinned. Everyone except Gracie knew that the doctor was only offering empty platitudes.</p><p>Data raised an eyebrow at the doctor in a reproachful expression he didn’t often have occasion to use. “Doctor, I do not believe you should ignore the difficulties of the situation,” he disagreed mildly, and turned to Gracie. “We will, of course, do our best to return you to your own time; however, it is highly unlikely that we will succeed in any small amount of time, without the help of the entity who brought you here in the first place.” The girl bit her lip, worried.</p><p>“Data, I was just trying to make her feel better,” said Crusher sharply. “You needn’t bring her hopes down like that.”</p><p>“It’s okay!” Gracie broke in. “I—I appreciate it either way. Thanks.” The last thing she wanted was for these people to start arguing over what was said to her. And while she did appreciate Dr. Crusher’s attempt to bolster her hopes, she preferred Data’s assessment, because she knew it must be the truth. She’d rather have an accurate idea of her situation than an unrealistic expectation of a quick fix.</p><p>The doors whooshed open once more and a short black man with a strange contraption over his eyes bustled in, clearly in a hurry and somewhat out-of-breath. “Apologies, Captain,” he puffed. “Barclay was trying to discuss something with me, and you know how he can be.” Picard smiled ruefully. “Indeed, Mr. La Forge. No worries. Allow me to introduce you to our new passenger for the time being, Miss Gracie Hartwell.” La Forge turned his head to the girl curiously. “Miss Hartwell, this is my Chief Engineer, Commander Geordi La Forge. He and Mr. Data will be working together to send you back home.”</p><p>“Uh—home?” Geordi was lost. “Q brought her here from the early 21<sup>st</sup> century,” explained Riker. He was sure that behind his visor Geordi blinked in surprise at that. “Incredible,” the engineer breathed. “But why?”</p><p>“Q’s reasoning is apparent only to himself,” sighed Picard, running a hand over his face. “For now, though, <em>why</em> she is here is hardly the issue. We must focus on finding a way to return her, and quickly. The longer she’s here, the more chance there is of the timeline splintering, though the fact that nothing has apparently happened yet is encouraging.”</p><p>“Nothing that <em>we’ve</em> seen,” corrected Geordi. “It’s more likely that the majority of the timeline changes would occur on Earth, since that’s where the temporal disruption originated. It’s possible they could start there and ripple outward, like waves in a lake.”</p><p>The captain sighed again. “Very true, Commander. This is a very tenuous situation indeed.” He folded his hands in a businesslike manner and looked at the girl. “Miss Hartwell, I’d like you to tell us all you can about your life back on Earth. It might help us pinpoint areas that may have been altered.”</p><p>Everyone turned to look at Gracie, who suddenly felt very small and very out-of-place. Having the full attention of seven extremely serious grown-ups made her highly uncomfortable. “Um…” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “Well, uh… Like I said, I’m from Ohio?” The statement came out as a question. Gracie’s eyes were darting between faces and the table, returning often to Geordi and avoiding Worf.</p><p>“Where in Ohio?” asked Geordi with an encouraging smile. Gracie tried not to stare at his visor. “Lancaster. Are you like Cyclops?” The apparent non sequitur baffled everyone except Data, who quickly searched his memory banks for the term in relation to the 21<sup>st</sup> century. “Gracie, are you referring to the one-eyed giant known as the Cyclops in Greek mythology? Or are you referring to the character of Scott Summers, also called Cyclops, from the popular Earth multimedia franchise <em>X-Men</em>? Both could be applicable to Geordi.”</p><p>“<em>X-Men</em>, of course,” replied Gracie with a <em>wasn’t that obvious</em> sort of look. “Why would I be talking about one-eyed giants?”</p><p>“You could have inferred that Geordi’s visor works as a visual organ, therefore making him one-eyed, in a sense; and—”</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, Data, hang on,” Geordi cut in. “What is this character you’re talking about? In ten seconds or less,” he added quickly with a glance at the captain.</p><p>“In the canon universe of <em>X-Men</em>, Scott Summers is a character who wears a visor similar to yours,” explained Data, keeping his description obligingly brief. There were murmurs of understanding around the table. “He possesses the ability to emit energy blasts from his eyes; the visor allows him to control this ability.”</p><p>“Ah. Well, in that case, no. I’m not like Cyclops,” the engineer grinned at Gracie. “But my visor <em>does</em> allow me to see, since I was born blind. It works even better than a normal human eye, in fact.” The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ohhh. That’s super cool!”</p><p>“Gracie, what do your parents do?” Troi asked, gently trying to get the meeting back on track. The girl sighed. “My mom works in a doctor’s office, and she’s a waitress at Kanji too. I don’t have a dad. He left before I was born. Can…can I go now?”</p><p>The senior staff traded glances. “No, Miss Hartwell, I’m afraid we aren’t finished yet,” said Picard, sympathetic but firm. Gracie sighed again and resumed picking at her nails. “Is your mother a doctor, then? Or a nurse?” asked Beverly with interest. The girl shook her head. “No, she just answers phones and stuff.”</p><p>Before anyone could ask any more questions, a brilliant white light, accompanied by a whooshing noise, flashed into existence in the empty chair at the foot of the table. When it faded, the chair was occupied by the tall, wild-haired man with whom Picard had been arguing on the Bridge. He had his feet up, ankles crossed, on the shiny conference table and was leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “Oh, Pi<em>card</em>, this is pointless,” he sneered. “And you know it. How were you going to send her back? Or correct any damage to the timeline? Got any police telephone boxes you want to tell me about?” Gracie, who had shrunk back against Data and whose eyes were practically popping out of her head, blinked rapidly in confused surprise.</p><p>“Q! Send her back! Immediately!” Picard barked. Demanding that Q return the girl hadn’t worked on the Bridge, but he figured he may as well try again. (By an unspoken consensus, everyone ignored the incomprehensible comment about police boxes, refusing to indulge Q’s pathological need to cause confusion.)</p><p>“Oh yes, shout at me again, Jean-Luc,” drawled the omnipotent trickster. “I just love it when you’re dominant. Makes me go all tingly inside.” Troi pressed her lips together at that, Crusher facepalmed, and Riker let out a snort before managing to smother his laughter.</p><p>Worf growled at Q in disgust. “Why must you always be so revolting?” Q, now swinging the chair from side to side like a bored child without removing his legs from the table, grinned at the Klingon provocatively. “Now now, we all know you’re just jealous, Commander! Unfortunately for you, I’m not attracted to Markovian cave-bears. How about I find you a nice yeti instead?” Worf clenched his fists and imagined closing them around the trickster’s neck.</p><p>Picard’s nostrils flared as he pinched the bridge of his nose yet again, inwardly counting to ten before speaking again. “Q.” He forced his voice to be lower, more diplomatic. “This child is innocent. She has done nothing to deserve being snatched away from her life, and yet she finds herself in the crossfire of our argument. Surely you must see the injustice of the situation.”</p><p>Q shrugged. “I see no injustice. The way I see it, I’ve done the girl a favor. Her life will be infinitely better here than in that primitive century. Don’t you think so, my dear?” He raised his eyebrows at Gracie.</p><p>“Um…I-I don’t—”</p><p>“She has a mother who loves her, and you ripped her away from that! How is that <em>better</em>?!” Dr. Crusher broke in angrily. Q waved a hand, dismissing the sentiment. “Pffff. The kid was going to be dead in a few days anyway, so what’s the difference?”</p><p>With those words, the room went completely still. Everyone stared at the trickster in shock. Gracie was the first to break the silence.</p><p>“I’m gonna die?” The quiet, tremulous voice tugged on the senior staff’s heartstrings. Even Data felt pity, in his own way. To be informed of your own impending death in such a flippant manner would surely be a most unpleasant experience.</p><p>Q stared at the girl blankly. “Well, of <em>course</em> you’re going to die. You’re not immortal.” She shook her head, trembling. “No, I mean now. In a few days. How…how do you know that?” Q blinked. “Because I looked. Wasn’t that clear? Honestly, I had thought you were <em>somewhat</em> more intelligent than the average human offspring.” He turned back to the captain. “Yes, in a little over two days from the time I spirited the girl away,” he wiggled his fingers to suggest hocus-pocus, “she will die in an accident involving those rude little contraptions you humans used for transportation.” A sly smirk curled the corners of his mouth.</p><p>“Still want me to send her back, Picard?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Damned If You Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I decided to start using chapter titles, since I'm planning on having a good many of them...</p>
<p>Many thanks again to my wonderful beta, Crowley*, for her help!</p>
<p>*name changed to protect privacy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 4</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Damned If You Do</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The senior staff gazed at one another in uneasy silence, while Q watched them with his eyes narrowed in amusement, like a cat toying with its prey. Picard turned to Gracie. “Miss Hartwell, please go with Mr. Data to my ready room. We must discuss this, and I would prefer if you were not here.” Data rose and held a hand out to the girl, but she made no move to get up. She looked uncomfortable, though her voice was level as she addressed the captain.</p>
<p>“I…think I’d like to stay,” she stated quietly. Her eyebrows twisted in an odd mixture of apology and defiance. “If you’re going to decide what happens to me, shouldn’t you listen to what I want?” Gracie had no desire to be sent away to wait while the grown-ups decided, essentially, whether she should live or die.</p>
<p>Picard’s face darkened, but Riker tipped his head to her, impressed by her moxie, and Beverly gave her an approving smile. Data lifted his brows thoughtfully. “She does have a point, Captain,” he said. “Should she not have a say in what is decided?”</p>
<p>“She’s a kid, Data,” Geordi murmured. “She isn’t old enough to make these kinds of calls.” Worf nodded sagely in agreement.</p>
<p>Gracie opened her mouth indignantly, but Counselor Troi brushed her fingers across her chair’s arm in silent warning. “It’s true she’s young, Geordi, but I sense that it is very important to her to be included,” Troi objected in a reasonable tone. She turned to Picard. “I agree with Data. In this sort of situation, the one who is affected most should have the greatest input, and I think Gracie is quite capable of handling that.” She smiled gently at the girl. “She seems quite a rational young lady.” Gracie blushed and ducked her head.</p>
<p>“Agreed,” nodded Riker. “She needs some say in this. It’s her life, after all.”</p>
<p>The captain drew in a deep breath as he considered these points, tapping his lips. At last he sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Miss Hartwell. I appreciate your position, and you have a valid point, but I feel it would be better if you were not involved in this discussion. While you may possess a level of maturity somewhat beyond your age, the fact remains that you are a nine-year-old child, and it is not our custom to saddle our children with the burden of heavy decisions—even if those decisions would not rest solely on them,” he added, with a knowing look at Troi, whom he knew was about to protest. The counselor dipped her head, silently ceding the point. Picard turned a steely gaze on Q as if daring him to make a snide remark, but the trickster appeared to be ignoring the conversation altogether, studying the ceiling as though bored to tears.</p>
<p>Gracie’s brows drew together and Troi felt a sudden surge of frustration flare from the girl, like a spark catching in dry tinder. “But I’m not asking to make the whole decision!” she argued. She began to stumble over her words in her vexation. “I just want to be asked what I think, and for you to—for—for it to matter when you decide!” The senior staff’s heads turned as one, looking from the captain to the girl as if they were contestants in a tennis match. It was a highly unusual occurrence for anyone, much less a small child, to argue with Picard like this. The captain’s eyes narrowed. Q, still staring at the ceiling, began to smirk again.</p>
<p>“Miss Hartwell,” Picard began, his voice dangerously calm, “again, I understand your objections. Believe me, I have given them due consideration—and I do not dismiss them lightly.”</p>
<p>“But you do dismiss them,” Gracie retorted, her eyes also narrowed. Riker’s eyebrows shot up. The captain’s face mirrored the First Officer’s expression. “No,” he replied after a moment of startled silence. “But I am overruling them. You will accompany Mr. Data to my ready room.” His words were clipped, terse, and his tone was bordering on icy. Anyone able to read the temperature of a room would have known not to push any further. Unfortunately, Gracie’s social thermometer wasn’t quite so finely calibrated. Deanna realized the girl was going to continue to press the issue, and reached out to warn her, nearly too late.</p>
<p>“But <em>why</em>—” Gracie stopped as the counselor closed a cautionary hand over her own. She looked at Troi in surprise, who gave a tiny shake of the head: <em>Don’t push it.</em></p>
<p>“My decision is final,” Picard said shortly. He had to restrain himself from snapping at the child. This was one of the reasons he found children so annoying: they never listened, always thinking they knew best! He drew in a calming breath through his nose, shaking the thought away. “However…we shall take your wishes into account nonetheless. Be considering whether you want to stay or return home.”</p>
<p>Gracie, beginning to realize she may have gone too far, scowled at the table but didn’t protest any more. She pushed her chair back with some effort and stood, ignoring Data’s outstretched hand. The android accompanied her to the door and paused. “Captain, do you wish me to return to join the discussion?”</p>
<p>“No,” answered Picard, still a bit brusque. He would be damned if he was going to leave a young child unsupervised in his ready room. She could all too easily break his model ships or drop and shatter a piece of ancient pottery. “No, stay with the girl and keep her occupied. Don’t let her touch anything,” he added in a low voice. Data nodded, then paused again. “<em>Anything</em>, Captain?” Picard sighed. “Any of <em>my</em> things, Mr. Data. Just…have her sit on the couch.” The android nodded once more and ushered Gracie, still scowling, out of the room.</p>
<p>Once the doors had hissed closed behind them, Riker whistled. “That kid’s got balls.” Q ended his close study of the ceiling and sat up, eyes twinkling. “She does, doesn’t she? I know how to pick ‘em!” He laughed. “Oh, Picard, you’ve got your work cut out for you!”</p>
<p>Troi eyed the trickster with dislike. “She’s angry, Q. I believe she’s normally a very agreeable child, but her frustration clouded her judgment.” Q arched an eyebrow with a mocking half-smile. “If you say so, Counselor.”</p>
<p>“We have not decided whether she will be staying here,” Picard snapped.</p>
<p>“Oh, riiiight,” Q said with amusement. “You haven’t debated the so-called <em>ethics</em> of the situation yet. Well, go ahead. Debate away!” He leaned back again and interlaced his fingers, surveying them all with the air of a know-it-all professor watching his unusually dense students try to work out a trick equation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~****~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gracie was still fuming as Data led her across the back of the Bridge and through another set of doors on the other side. The pair attracted some stares from the current crew; thankfully, Gracie didn’t notice, being too focused on her indignation at being sent away. They entered the ready room and Data sat down on a couch of an unfortunate shade of beige, patting it in invitation. The girl plopped down with a huff and crossed her arms. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t let me stay,” she growled.</p>
<p>“I sympathize with your position,” said Data mildly. “However, Captain Picard has explained his reasoning, which is also entirely valid. And he has agreed to factor in your wishes on the matter.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gracie muttered, “I know.” She hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Data tilted his head, wanting to make her feel better. “Overall, I believe your argument was partially successful. You should take pride in this accomplishment; the captain is a skilled negotiator, and few people on this ship would have…I believe ‘taken him on’ is the colloquial term.”</p>
<p>Gracie didn’t respond, glaring at the hideous pinkish-beige fabric of the couch as if the color were a personal affront. As her anger cooled, the audacity of what she had done began to sink in. Her arms fell to her lap. “Oh no,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. <em>I argued with the <strong>captain</strong></em>, she thought with horror. “I bet he’s so mad—he’s going to hate me!” <em>Oh crap oh crap ohcrapohcrapohcr—</em></p>
<p>“Captain Picard will not hate you,” Data reassured her, puzzled. “Why do you think that he will?”</p>
<p>“Because…it was probably really rude to argue with him like that. I think I made him really mad,” Gracie said. A horrible thought occurred to her. “What if—what if he makes Q send me home to die, to get me out of here?!” The stress, the fear, the absolute insanity of the past hour finally caught up with her, and she felt her eyes begin to prickle. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Data!” And she burst into tears, unable to help herself.</p>
<p>Data was, understandably, at something of a loss. He was not accustomed to the company of small, crying children. Sarjenka, the pre-warp girl with whom he had had a brief acquaintanceship, had been frightened, but had not issued forth a torrent of tears as Gracie was currently doing. He knew what humans generally did to comfort children, in theory and through observation; now was the occasion to attempt it himself.</p>
<p>Hesitatingly, he reached out a hand and rested it on Gracie’s shaking shoulder. “There, there,” he said in his best soothing voice, and patted the shoulder. (He did not know what “there, there,” was supposed to mean, or why it was meant to be comforting, but it was in his memory banks as something that was said to people in need of consoling. He did, however, understand the calming effect of gentle physical contact.) Data had expected the girl’s sobs to subside; he was not prepared for her reaction, which consisted of throwing herself into his arms and crying even harder, balling up fistfuls of his uniform into a death grip. The android tilted his head to one side, then the other. Wrapping his arms around Gracie in a fairly unpracticed motion, and being extremely mindful of the amount of pressure he exerted, he held the weeping child to his chest and allowed her to cling to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~****~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A moral debate raged in the briefing room.</p>
<p>“Obviously we can’t send her to her death!” Riker wasn’t quite shouting, but his voice was rather voluble. He was half-standing with his hands planted on the table. The rest of the senior staff sat with tense, uncertain postures. Q still lounged at the foot of the table, a smirk playing on his lips as he inspected his fingernails and feigned disinterest.</p>
<p>“But her mother must be out of her mind with worry—she deserves to know what happened to her child!” Beverly countered. “I don’t want the girl to die any more than you do, of course, but don’t you think she should be with her mother? Keeping Gracie here would be tantamount to kidnapping—and a violation of the Prime Directive, to boot.”</p>
<p>Riker, who had been slowly deflating as Crusher spoke, sat back with a thump at her last sentence. “Damn,” he muttered. “It would, wouldn’t it?” Picard let out a long sigh. He didn’t want to send the girl back, knowing full well she would be dead within days of returning, but the doctor was right. Allowing her to stay in the 24<sup>th</sup> century would most definitely be considered interfering with a pre-warp civilization. <em>And </em>it would be a gross infraction of temporal laws. Still, condemning a child to certain death did not sit well with him.</p>
<p>“Well…” hummed Geordi thoughtfully, at the same time as Troi said, “I’m not so sure, Will.” The captain, hands steepled before his mouth, raised his eyebrows. “In what way would it not be a violation?” His voice was as calm as ever, his expression merely curious, but he felt a glimmer of hope. If they could find some loophole, <em>something</em> beyond mere discomfort with the ethics of the situation…</p>
<p>“Go ahead, Counselor,” Geordi said politely. Troi nodded acknowledgement. “Captain, the Prime Directive is intended to prevent interference in the natural evolution of pre-warp <em>societies</em>,” she said. “A single person is hardly a society, so I don’t see how allowing Gracie to live in a post-warp civilization could be considered a violation.”</p>
<p>Worf shook his head. “But surely taking her from her society could change it! And remember, we have no idea how severely her staying could affect the timeline.” The Klingon turned to the captain, his expression even graver than usual. “Perhaps we should worry less about the effect on her civilization and more about our own, if she should stay.”</p>
<p>“That’s where I have to disagree with you, Commander,” Geordi spoke up, sitting forward and resting his elbows on the table. “See, I don’t think her having left will change much, if anything. Since she was going to be…well, <em>gone</em>, in a few days anyway, I don’t think leaving forty-eight hours early will make much of a difference.” He swiveled his chair to face Picard. “That’s my argument for why it wouldn’t be a violation of the Prime Directive to let Gracie stay. It won’t be interfering if it doesn’t change anything to begin with.”</p>
<p>Picard rubbed his chin in contemplation. “You all raise very valid points,” he said. “I would, of course, prefer for the child to be able to live out a full life. However…” he trailed off, thinking. “Dr. Crusher’s point about the mother must be considered. We are not only dealing with the life of a child, but the mental and emotional wellbeing of her mother, as well.”</p>
<p>“What if Q brought her here, too?” asked Troi. Picard looked at the trickster, who had been watching the exchange with silent (for once) amusement. “Ah, no can do, sorry,” Q said, not sounding sorry at all. He leaned forward and folded his hands in mock seriousness. “You see, it’s only the girl who dies in that accident, not her mother. <em>She</em> will go on to have other children—and without <em>them</em>, you’d be looking at…oh, six, seven thousand people missing from the timeline. One or two of them are even rather important, as humans go.” He cast a disapproving look around the table and shook his head. “Honestly, you humanoids go on and on about your offspring being so precious, but whenever you lose one, you simply make another to replace it. How hypocritical can you get?”</p>
<p>Crusher’s face was positively murderous. “You—you—”</p>
<p>“Beverly,” Deanna cautioned. “He’s baiting us. Don’t let him get under your skin.” The doctor blew out a long breath, nostrils flaring, and pressed her lips together so hard they turned white. She sat back in her chair and glared daggers at Q.</p>
<p>Worf cleared his throat. “There seems to be a simple solution,” he said. He forced out his next words with some effort. “Could not Q simply…erase the accident? Allowing the girl to live out her life in her own time?” Suggesting that they needed the trickster’s help cost the Klingon dearly, but as it appeared to be the best solution to their dilemma, he had no choice.</p>
<p>Picard blinked. Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? <em>I must be slipping</em>, he thought.</p>
<p>
  <em>Clap. Clap. Clap.</em>
</p>
<p>As one, all heads turned to the foot of the table, where Q was applauding slowly. He was wearing a very sour expression. “Well, well, the beast has a brain after all,” he sneered. “I was wondering when you people would think of that, but I expected <em>you</em> to be the one to come up with it, Jean-Luc.” He stood and straightened his uniform with a jerk, his face stony; all traces of amusement had vanished. “It’s been fun watching you all squabble, but I never had any intention of sending her back, no matter what you ‘decided.’ You’d better start brushing up on your parenting skills, Picard, because the kid is staying where I put her. And that’s final.” With a flash, he was gone, not even bothering to snap.</p>
<p>Silence reigned for a long moment as everyone looked at each other. “Well,” Picard said at last, “I suppose that’s that.” He exhaled. “I shall go deliver the news, and then I shall have to find a family or guardian to place her with. Perhaps Mr. Data would be willing, as she seems to have taken to him quite strongly. Dismissed.”</p>
<p>The senior staff stood and broke up, heading for the doors. “Oh,” the captain added, “I would appreciate it if you kept Miss Hartwell’s origins to yourselves. Data and I will invent a backstory for her; for now, if anyone asks, just say she is traveling to meet her parents and that we picked her up at the last starbase. There are enough children aboard this ship that nobody should notice her, anyway. Number One, please communicate this to the rest of today’s Bridge crew, as well.” Everyone nodded and murmured agreement before filing out of the room.</p>
<p>Riker hung back, hands behind his back in his usual posture of parade rest. “Captain, if Data doesn’t want Gracie to stay with him, I’d be happy to take her on,” he said. Picard smiled at him. “Yes, you seem to get on quite well with her. Very well, Number One, I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood and joined Riker in front of the door. Both men looked at each other in silence for a second.</p>
<p>“Sir, do you agree with what Dr. Crusher said? About how keeping Gracie here is like kidnapping her?” Riker asked after a moment. Picard sighed. “I do. Of course, Q is the one who did the kidnapping, but we are complicit as well. It is an impossible situation. Damned if you do…” He ran a hand over his face tiredly. “I would appreciate it if you spoke to the Bridge crew as soon as you are able.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. Right away.” Riker nodded and strode onto the Bridge, leaving the captain alone. He stood there briefly, wondering how many more of Q’s impossible situations he would have to suffer through, before sighing yet again and heading to his ready room to tell Gracie she would never see her mother again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. We Have McDonald's at Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 5: We Have McDonald’s at Home</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Picard approached the ready room with some trepidation. He trusted Data to keep the girl from making any messes, but the thought of a child in his room still made him rather uncomfortable. Some of his apprehension was also due to the anticipation of asking a highly trained Lieutenant Commander to assume the guardianship of a child he had only just met; although he knew Data did not feel emotions such as distress or frustration, and would hardly take offense, it was still a monumental thing to ask of someone. And it was never easy informing a child of the loss of a parent—the unpleasant memory of doing so for young Jeremy Aster, just weeks before, was still fresh in his mind. The captain squared his shoulders and stepped through the doors, but immediately stopped short in surprise.</p>
<p>He had been expecting Data and Gracie to be chatting, or perhaps for Data to be attempting to calm the irate girl. Even awkward silence seemed likely. What Picard had <em>not</em> been anticipating was to see the android sitting on the couch with tearstains all over his uniform, cradling a dozing Gracie in his lap, her face snuggled against his chest. Data looked up as the captain stepped into the room.</p>
<p>“I take it you have reached a consensus,” he stated quietly. “What was decided?”</p>
<p>“Commander Worf suggested that Q send her back, but eliminate the automobile accident, thereby saving her life. Q categorically refused. Miss Hartwell is trapped in this century.” Picard kept his voice low as well, but he didn’t need to: at the sound of Data’s voice, Gracie had stirred and lifted her head. She peered haggardly at the captain through puffy eyes.</p>
<p>“So…I can’t go home. But I won’t die, either.” Her tone was curiously blank. Gracie was so emotionally wrung-out that the news barely affected her; she could no longer feel either upset or happy about anything. She felt like a piece of paper that had been crumpled and uncrumpled so many times that it just hung limp. “I can’t see my mom again.”</p>
<p>Picard’s brows furrowed in sympathy. The girl seemed absolutely defeated. He knelt down next to the couch and, after a moment of hesitation, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yes. I am sorry, Gracie. Truly.”</p>
<p>She sniffled. “Not your fault.”</p>
<p>Data patted her back soothingly and looked at the captain. “She will require a guardian, then?” Picard nodded, straightening. “Yes. Commander Riker offered to care for her, unless…unless <em>you</em> were willing to act as her guardian,” he said carefully. Gracie turned to look at Data, her expression scared and pleading. The android raised his eyebrows. “It was an idea I had already been considering, in the event that Gracie remained in this century,” he addressed the captain. He looked down at the girl. “Gracie, do you wish for me to be your guardian? Or would you prefer to stay with Commander Riker?”</p>
<p>“You,” the girl whispered.</p>
<p>“Are you quite certain? I do not deny I am not precisely parenting material, and have no experience in the matter. The commander would be able to meet your emotional needs; I cannot. While I will do my best, Commander Riker will most likely be able to do better. Are you certain you wish to stay with me?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Gracie clung to the android more tightly—not a hug, precisely, but the sentiment was the same. Data’s arms came up to encircle her once more in reciprocation. The captain, having watched the exchange with interest, shifted his weight. “Very well, Mr. Data. I shall assign you quarters with a second bedroom immediately.” Data shook his head. “That will not be necessary, Captain. I rarely use the bed in my quarters; it will be more than adequate for Gracie’s use.”</p>
<p>The corners of Picard’s lips twitched upwards. “Be that as it may, I’m sure she will want her own room. After all, it’s not just a bed—a bedroom is also comprised of storage space for clothes and toys and such.” Data raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in an <em>ah. </em>“I was not thinking from a human perspective.”  </p>
<p>“Perfectly understandable, Mr. Data. Your current quarters will do for tonight, of course, but tomorrow you shall take the day off to settle into your new ones. Lieutenant Andersen can take your shift.”</p>
<p>“Acknowledged, sir.”</p>
<p>Gracie had watched the two men’s exchange with wide eyes. “Wait…Mr. Data has to move for me to stay with him? I don’t want to be any trouble…”</p>
<p>Picard privately suspected that the girl would turn out to be quite a bit of trouble, whether she intended to or not, but kept that to himself. He gave her a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Hartwell. Transferring to different quarters is not that much of an inconvenience.”</p>
<p>“But if he doesn’t want to move—”</p>
<p>“It is quite alright, Gracie,” Data reassured her. “Quite apart from whether I <em>wish</em> to move or not, it is a practicality that must be undertaken. I shall neither like nor dislike the action: as I cannot experience emotion, I do not have any sentimental attachment to my current quarters.”</p>
<p>Gracie blinked at him, stunned. “You don’t have feelings?”</p>
<p>“Not in the humanoid sense of the word, no.”</p>
<p>Picard watched the girl’s face closely. She appeared shocked, as many people were upon learning of the android’s emotionless nature; a perfectly natural reaction. But her expression seemed almost to hold an undercurrent of envy as she breathed “<em>woooow</em>.” Curious. <em>Then again—perhaps not so curious</em>, thought the captain. <em>In her place, I would probably not wish to feel emotions at the moment, either.</em></p>
<p>Picard’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden movement: the child had abruptly wiggled off Data’s lap to sit on the couch beside him, close but no longer touching. The suddenness of her movement startled both men. For a moment, the captain thought something must have hurt her, but he couldn’t think what; then he realized she just didn’t want to sit on the android’s lap anymore. It put Picard in mind of a cat who had had enough of being petted. Oblivious to their confusion, the girl kept talking. “So…you <em>really</em> don’t mind moving to a new room, just for me?” She still didn’t appear to be fully convinced.</p>
<p>“I <em>really</em> do not,” Data promised, placing a hand on his chest. “<em>Cross my heart and hope to die</em>, as children of your age demographic said in your time.” Gracie grimaced—“We really didn’t, though, that’s way old-timey,”—but finally seemed mollified. She gave the android a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Data.”</p>
<p>“You are welcome, Gracie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~****~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Data showed the girl to his—their—quarters and, after a brief tour, demonstrated the replicator, by which Gracie was thoroughly awed. The sight of such incredible technology chased away her emotional funk, at least for the moment. “How does it make it out of nowhere?!” she breathed, watching the requested plate of chicken nuggets materialize with wide eyes. She hesitantly reached out a finger and poked a piece of chicken. Satisfied that it was indeed solid matter, she picked up the nugget and studied it closely. Data, happy to provide information, launched into a detailed explanation of the technology.</p>
<p>“Replicators operate upon the same principles as transporters, synthesizing molecules from patterns stored in the computer’s database. They assemble foodstuffs from reconstituted matter via the matter-energy conversion matrix…”</p>
<p>Gracie sniffed the nugget suspiciously. It certainly smelled like a real one.</p>
<p>“…energy from the waveguide, which…”</p>
<p>She took a tiny bite. It tasted all right, too—she’d expected it to taste like plastic or something, but she couldn’t detect any difference between this and the chicken nuggets she would have microwaved for a snack at home.</p>
<p>“…and utilizing the patterns stored in the pattern buffer, the principle of…”</p>
<p>This one was probably a little better, actually; it was crispier than it would’ve gotten in the microwave. Gracie popped the rest of the nugget in her mouth. Her stomach rumbled in approval.</p>
<p>“…thereby materializing the selected food or beverage, along with an appropriate container. This is, of course, a simplification of the process, but that is essentially how the replicators function. If you would like a more in-depth explanation, I would be happy to provide one.”</p>
<p>Gracie blinked up at the android. “Um…no, that’s okay,” she mumbled, mouth full of chicken. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>Data nodded. “You are quite welcome. Any time you wish to know information of any kind, you may simply ask me. And if I am not available, you may ask the computer; it can provide you with all material contained in the memory banks that is accessible to your security clearance level.” He tilted his head as he looked at Gracie; the girl was consuming the chicken at an alarming rate. “Would you…like a second serving?” he asked, as she polished off the last nugget with gusto.</p>
<p>“Can I have some fries?” Gracie asked hopefully. “And ice cream?” Data considered for a moment, accessing nutritional value information. “Fries and ice cream are not good for you, Gracie,” he said when he had retrieved the values. The foods contained disturbing amounts of saturated fats and sugars. The girl looked at the floor, crestfallen.</p>
<p>“However,” continued Data (Gracie raised her head, hopeful once more), “the replicators are able to synthesize foodstuffs with acceptable nutritional values, virtually identical to any non-nutritional food requested. I shall program this replicator unit to adhere to these nutritional protocols, so you may have any food you desire, without damaging your health.” He reached over to the replicator’s control panel and punched in a sequence. “One serving of French-fried potatoes and—” Data looked at the girl. “What flavor of ice cream do you want?”</p>
<p>Gracie thought for a moment. “Chocolate.” She was having a chocolate sort of day.</p>
<p>Data nodded. “One serving of French-fried potatoes and one scoop of chocolate ice cream,” he finished. Particles of light swirled obligingly in the compartment, and a moment later a small plate and bowl had materialized. He handed the plate to Gracie. She picked up two fries and took a small bite of both, chewing thoughtfully. It wasn’t <em>quite</em> the same as McDonald’s—it seemed to be lacking something, somehow—but it wasn’t too bad at all. It tasted along the same lines as frozen fries cooked in the oven. “It’s not bad! Thanks!” She continued to eat, always picking up two fries at a time: no more, no less. Data watched her curiously, noting this.</p>
<p>Gracie pushed the plate aside. There was a lone fry remaining. “You do not want the last one?” Data asked, eyebrows raised. The girl shook her head. “No, I have to eat two.”</p>
<p>Data tilted his head in confusion. “Why?”</p>
<p>Gracie shrugged. “I dunno. I just do. Why do you always tilt your head like that?”</p>
<p>The android frowned slightly and set the small bowl of ice cream in front of her, taking the plate and setting it inside the replicator to be recycled. “The servo-mechanisms in my neck are designed to approximate human movements.”</p>
<p>Gracie swirled around a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth (it tasted more like frozen yogurt—oh well) before swallowing it. “But humans don’t really move their heads like that. Not that much, anyway. So why do you?”</p>
<p>Data blinked. “I suppose…you could say ‘I just do.’” He blinked again and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Ah. I see your point.” (Gracie hadn’t actually been meaning to make a point—she had been genuinely curious—but if it kept the android from pressing the issue about how she ate her fries, all the better.) The girl hummed and continued eating her ice cream without further comment.</p>
<p>“I believe our next course of action should be to acquire some contemporary clothing for you,” Data said, sitting down on the sofa. “Would you like to do so immediately, or wait until tomorrow?”</p>
<p>Gracie shot him a sideways look. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream. “I don’t want different ones.” Data folded his hands. “Understandable. However, your current clothing is…dated. I would imagine Captain Picard would like for you to blend in. You have chocolate on your chin,” he added.</p>
<p>The girl swiped at the dribble of ice cream and scowled. “I don’t <em>want</em> different clothes. These are comfortable. And I hate clothes shopping!” It had always taken her and her mother ages to find clothes that didn’t bother Gracie’s skin. Trying to find new outfits had always been an ordeal that took hours, if not days, and visits to many different shops. In fact, they had just bought the jeans she was wearing, not two weeks before—Gracie didn’t want to get rid of her brand new pants so soon. But she couldn’t seem to articulate this to Data. The words just wouldn’t come.</p>
<p>Data considered for a moment. “I will discuss it with the captain tomorrow,” he said decisively. “Perhaps he will allow you to continue wearing your current clothing, though I must warn you that I think it unlikely. Also, please consider the fact that you will need replacement apparel sooner or later.” Gracie twisted her mouth to the side in a frown, but accepted his words with a nod.</p>
<p>After Gracie had finished eating, she and Data sat and talked for a while about the technology of the 24<sup>th</sup> century, by which the girl was fascinated. They had just reached the subject of holodecks when exhaustion suddenly hit Gracie like a freight train. She wanted to hear more about these incredibly realistic video games, but try as she might, she just couldn’t stay awake. Data’s voice seemed to fade in and out of existence; it didn’t help that his tone was so quiet and level. In fact, the whole ship seemed so very quiet—a welcome change from the typical auditory overload she experienced every day. <em>They should make a soundtrack of Mr. Data talking… With that humming noise in the background…</em></p>
<p>Gracie drifted off to sleep, dreaming about silent video games and fries that were actually made of lettuce, with the calm voice of Data narrating everything.</p>
<p>It took Data a few moments to realize the girl was no longer listening, dozing with her head propped up on her arm. He gently scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down softly and tucked the gray covers around her. The android watched the exhausted child for a minute, considering the events of the day and how different his future would be now; at last he turned and left Gracie to her dreams, the bedroom doors hissing shut behind him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the longer time between updates, guys! My workload has increased dramatically this past week. But I'm going to try my best to update regularly, once a week at least, I'm hoping. Cheers!</p>
<p>(Q will be back soon, I promise. I can't wait to write him again!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Saloon Shootout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 6: Saloon Shootout</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Come on, Gracie, just try it on. It’s really quite comfortable!”</p>
<p>“<em>No.</em>”</p>
<p>Deanna sighed and dropped her arms from where she had been holding out the green jumpsuit. Gracie was standing before her, half undressed, arms crossed and staring mutinously at the article of clothing. Data had asked Troi to help the girl pick out a 24<sup>th</sup> century wardrobe while he coordinated the quarters move (the captain had been adamant that Gracie blend in), but it was proving to be far more of an ordeal than the counselor had anticipated.</p>
<p>“Gracie, why don’t you want to try it on?” Troi squatted down to the child’s level, hands on knees. She couldn’t figure out the reason for the waves of revulsion rolling off her. “Is it because it looks uncomfortable?”</p>
<p>The girl curled her lip. “It looks <em>stupid</em>,” she growled. “<em>And</em> uncomfortable. And I like <em>my </em>clothes and I don’t see why I have to get new ones.”</p>
<p>“We’ve been over this,” Deanna said patiently. “With the clothes you have now, it’s very obvious that you’re not a typical child from this century. You need to look like you belong here so people won’t ask questions.” Gracie scowled. “But <em>why</em> is it that important? I don’t care if I look different! I don’t care if people ask questions!”</p>
<p>Troi didn’t miss the twinge of uncertainty that ran through the girl with those words. “Now, Gracie, you know that’s not entirely true,” she chided gently. Still squatting, she reached out and placed the jumpsuit in the girl’s hand, closing her fingers over it. “See, the fabric is very soft and light. It’s made to be comfortable and easy to move in.”</p>
<p>Gracie rubbed the cloth between her fingers and frowned, still skeptical. “It feels nice… It still looks dumb, though.” Deanna’s mouth thinned briefly. “The other children don’t think so,” she pointed out. “If they did, they wouldn’t wear them.”</p>
<p>“I guess that’s true…” She still didn’t seem convinced. Troi sighed again. “Please just try it, Gracie,” she implored her. “That’s all I’m asking. If you decide you still don’t like it after that, we’ll try something else. But you have to try it on first.”</p>
<p>Gracie grimaced, relenting. “All right…” She took the jumpsuit and disappeared into Troi’s bedroom. A moment later, “How do I even put it on?” came floating back through the doors.</p>
<p>The counselor carefully kept her smile out of her voice. “Would you like some help?”</p>
<p>Silence. Then a resigned “yes, please.” Troi straightened her face and stepped in. She helped the girl step into the legs and put her arms in the sleeves, then closed up the back, explaining how the fabric simply clung to itself like magnets so that anyone could close it by themselves. Once the jumpsuit was completely on, they both stood and stared into Troi’s mirror. Gracie turned this way and that, trying to see herself from every angle.</p>
<p>“Gracie, you look lovely!” exclaimed Deanna. It was a statement designed to bolster the girl’s self-esteem, but it was also the truth (at least in the counselor’s eyes). The different shades of green were really quite flattering to her complexion and seemed to bring out a few streaks of hazel in her eyes. Gracie frowned critically, turning around and looking at herself over her shoulder. “I dunno…I still think it looks silly.” A thought occurred to her and she paused. “Wait—how am I supposed to go to the bathroom?!”</p>
<p>Troi burst into laughter, caught by surprise, though she supposed she should’ve anticipated the question. “There’s a fly that closes the same way the back does,” she said through a chuckle. “Trust me, it isn’t difficult.”</p>
<p>“Ohhh.” Gracie continued to turn around and strike different poses in the mirror. “…I guess it isn’t <em>too</em> bad,” she begrudgingly admitted at long last. “It <em>is </em>pretty comfortable, and it’s not itchy at all. But I still say it doesn’t look as good as t-shirts.”</p>
<p>“Let’s try a few different styles and see if you like them better. I’m sure we can find a happy medium,” Deanna suggested. The girl needed more than one outfit anyway.</p>
<p>Over the next hour or so, various styles of clothing (most some kind of one-piece) were donned and discarded: they were either too hot, or too constrictive, or too rough and scratchy. Gracie ended up keeping the first jumpsuit, but the rest of the outfits she chose were either dresses or tunics with leggings—no matter how comfortable or ingeniously designed the one-pieces were, they just felt and looked too strange to her.</p>
<p>She insisted on keeping her shoes, however. They were the most comfortable shoes she’d ever had, and she hadn’t worn anything else ever since she’d gotten them. Troi looked them over and decided they didn’t look too out-of-place; she promised they could replicate more, exactly the same, and even change the colors if she wanted to. Gracie was satisfied.</p>
<p>Once they had finished “shopping” and Gracie had changed into her very first 24<sup>th</sup> century outfit—a loose-collared teal tunic with subtle botanical designs, and darker teal leggings—Deanna decided to take the girl out to Ten Forward for lunch. They had just stepped into the corridor when Data turned the corner.</p>
<p>“Oh, hello, Data,” called Troi with a smile and a wave. “We were just about to get some lunch at Ten Forward. Would you like to join us?”</p>
<p>“Do you think that wise, Counselor?” Data asked. Gracie looked from one to the other curiously.</p>
<p>Troi smiled at her. “I don’t see why not. Since this is Gracie’s home now, she may as well start getting to know it—and others should start getting to know her.” Data nodded thoughtfully. “That is a good point. In that case, I shall join you.”</p>
<p>“So why is it called Ten Forward?” asked Gracie as the three walked to the turbolift, arms swinging freely at her sides. She had willfully forgotten the sorrow of her situation for the time being. “That’s kind of a funny name.”</p>
<p>“It is so named because it is located on Deck Ten, in the forward part of the ship,” Data explained. “Perhaps <em>the Lounge</em> or <em>Guinan’s Bar</em> would be names more descriptive of the room’s function.”</p>
<p>“Guinan?”</p>
<p>“She’s the bartender,” Deanna said, “and she’s wonderful. I’m sure you’re going to like her.”</p>
<p>Gracie hummed, uncertain. “I’m not allowed to go in bars, so I don’t know if I can meet her…”</p>
<p>Troi laughed gently. “It’s not <em>just</em> a bar—it’s like a café too, so don’t worry. Although it’s true that children aren’t typically allowed in without an adult to accompany them, so it’s probably best if you don’t try to go there alone.” The turbolift doors opened and the three of them stepped in, Data instructing it to take them to Deck Ten.</p>
<p>Bars of light on the walls slid upward, making Gracie feel like she was being scanned by a printer. “How come kids can’t go there alone?” she frowned. It didn’t seem fair.</p>
<p>Troi opened her mouth to answer, but Data got there first. “Places where adults congregate to engage in relaxing social activities are generally considered inappropriate for unchaperoned children. Additionally, since children tend to be viewed as disruptive, their presence would not be conducive—”</p>
<p>“What Data <em>means</em> is that sometimes, grown-ups just want to have a space to themselves, without needing to be aware of the influence of their words and actions,” Deanna interrupted with a hard stare at the android as the turbolift doors slid open. Data blinked, unsure why the look was warranted but ceding the point all the same.</p>
<p>“Well…okay,” said Gracie, still unconvinced. It must just be one of those grown-up things they wanted to keep kids out of.</p>
<p>As the group stepped out of the lift, Deanna pulled Data and Gracie to the side before they could continue down the corridor. “Just a minute, Data—before we get there, did you and the captain come up with a cover story for Gracie?”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. After considering several alternatives, we decided on a simple explanation close to the truth: that Gracie was traveling to meet her mother on Rana IV, but received news that she had perished in the Husnock attack. As she had no other family and had become attached to me, I agreed to become her guardian.”</p>
<p>Troi thought about it, then nodded musingly. “Yes… yes, I think that will do nicely.” She turned to Gracie. “Just remember the name of the planet, Rana IV. I don’t anticipate anyone questioning you too closely for now.”</p>
<p>The girl was frowning in concentration. “Rana IV. Okay.” As the three of them resumed walking toward the bar, she repeated it under her breath. “Rana IV, <em>Rana IV</em>.” Troi smiled but said nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~****~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gracie stared at the bartender’s purple hat in fascination. It was the biggest, weirdest hat she had ever seen, like a dinner platter that had been upholstered and attached to a nun’s wimple. The woman turned from Troi and looked down at the girl, her lips curved in a gentle smile. “Hello, Gracie. I’m Guinan,” she said. “I take care of the bar here. Why don’t you hop up on a stool?” The girl clambered up into a seat, still staring at Guinan’s elaborate headpiece.</p>
<p>The bartender noticed her gaze and smiled again. “Do you like my hat?”</p>
<p>“No,” answered Gracie truthfully. “I think it’s weird.”</p>
<p>Deanna gasped, “Gracie, that’s not polite!” but Guinan just laughed. “No, it’s all right, Counselor. I asked her what she thought, and she answered. I can see how it might seem a bit much,” she said seriously, turning back to the girl. “People have told me as much before. But you want to know why I keep wearing these hats?”</p>
<p>The bartender leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if imparting a secret. “It draws attention. That puts other people at ease: if they’re feeling self-conscious, they see me in this big old hat, and they realize that if anyone’s being stared at, it’s me—not them.” She straightened up again, lightly brushing the hat’s brim with one finger and grinning conspiratorially. “And besides, I like them.”</p>
<p>Gracie nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good reason.”</p>
<p>“I think so. Now, Gracie, Counselor Troi tells me you’re new here. How do you like the <em>Enterprise</em> so far?”</p>
<p>“Um, well,” the girl glanced at Data, then Troi. Both nodded. “Well, I just got here, but…it seems…nice, I guess?”</p>
<p>Guinan raised a nonexistent eyebrow. “Nice? Well, that’s good. Not exactly a glowing review, but not terrible, either. Can I get you something to eat? Drink?”</p>
<p>“Yes, we came here for lunch, actually,” replied Deanna. “What would you like, Gracie?”</p>
<p>The girl requested a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, making Guinan look at her askance. “Now, that’s something I haven’t heard in a long, <em>long</em> time,” she said. “Where are you from, exactly?”</p>
<p>Here it was: the big moment. What was the name of the planet they had said? Oh yeah—“Rana IV,” Gracie answered confidently, at the same time as Data said, “Earth.” Guinan quirked a brow and glanced between the two of them. “Care to elaborate?”</p>
<p>“Apologies, Guinan. What I mean to say is, Gracie is originally from Earth, but was traveling to meet her mother on Rana IV,” Data explained, his face as impassive as ever after the blunder. Guinan let out an <em>ah</em> of understanding. “Unfortunately, her mother perished along with the rest of the colony. Gracie is now in my care.”</p>
<p>“Hammocks killed her,” the girl said somberly. Deanna’s eyes widened and Guinan smiled almost imperceptibly. Seeing the counselor’s face, Gracie tried again, blushing. “I mean Hummocks. Um, Humpbacks?”</p>
<p>“Husnocks,” Data corrected gently.</p>
<p>“Husnocks.” Gracie cleared her throat in embarrassment.</p>
<p>Guinan and Deanna shared a glance. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” the bartender murmured. Gracie nodded sadly. Guinan covered the small hand with her own for a moment, then stepped away to the replicator to prepare the group’s lunch.</p>
<p>“Perhaps we should’ve gone over the backstory with her in a bit more detail,” Troi whispered to Data. Before the android could answer, a blinding white flash burst beside the group and deposited Q on a stool.</p>
<p>“Already starting the coverup, I see,” he said loudly. Behind the bar, Guinan’s head whipped around so fast that her hat nearly slid off. “All you puny disappointments ever do is make up stories,” Q continued. “When something is too mundane, you exaggerate it. When something is too fantastical, you normalize it. Aren’t you people ever satisfied with the truth?”</p>
<p>“Shut <em>up</em>, Q,” Troi hissed through gritted teeth as she glanced around, judging whether anyone seemed to be listening to them. “We’re trying to give Gracie a normal life here!”</p>
<p>“As an entity who has delighted in fantasy and misdirection, it is ironic that you are advocating for the truth,” observed Data mildly.</p>
<p>“Oh, I love the truth,” Q said with a smirk. “It usually makes for the perfect lie. You seem to be settling in quite nicely, my dear,” he continued, directing his words at Gracie, who merely blinked at him, wide-eyed. He looked back at the two adults, then at the child again. All three stared at him in silence; Q threw up his hands. “Isn’t <em>anybody</em> going to say anything?! Honestly, it’s like you’re not happy to see me!”</p>
<p>“They’re not,” came a growl from behind the bar. Q turned, his face stretching into a wide, unpleasant grin. “Ah, the imp. Still playing bartender, I see.”</p>
<p>Guinan’s eyes were narrowed in hatred. “You want somebody to say something?” she asked, voice dangerously soft. “I will. <em>Get. Out.</em>”</p>
<p>Q clicked his tongue. “Now, now, Guinan, how terribly inhospitable. Don’t you pride yourself on welcoming everyone who comes to your watering hole? Lending a sympathetic ear to every poor soul with a problem?” His voice was loud and his tone deliberately obnoxious. Behind him, a few bargoers looked over curiously. The trickster spread his hands, gesturing expansively to himself. “I’m a guest! Where’s your fabled hospitality?”</p>
<p>“Everyone is welcome except <em>you</em>,” Guinan spat. “You are <em>not</em> a guest and you are <em>not</em> welcome. Now <em>get out of my bar</em>.”</p>
<p>Their argument was drawing more and more attention from the other patrons. People in the back were craning their necks, turning around in their chairs to watch the commotion; a few, having some knowledge of both Guinan and Q, hurriedly abandoned their lunches and left the room. A storm was brewing, and they didn’t want to be anywhere within two decks when it broke.</p>
<p>Q leaned back, crossed his arms, and smirked at the bartender. “And if I don’t, you’ll make me?” he purred. He sounded amused, but there was a dangerous undercurrent to his tone. Behind the smile and narrowed eyes lurked something menacing and not at all friendly.</p>
<p>Guinan held up her hands, fingers spread and crooked in a gesture that felt almost like a curse. “I can certainly try.”</p>
<p>The tension in the room became almost unbearable. Troi grabbed Gracie’s arm and began to practically drag her off the stool, saying, “I think it’s time to go, dear.” But the girl gripped the sides of the stool and held herself in place.</p>
<p>“<em>Stop!</em>”</p>
<p>Her sharp cry cracked through the air like a whip. All eyes, including Q’s and Guinan’s, snapped to the small child at the bar. She looked almost ready to cry. “Seriously! Both of you, stop it!”</p>
<p>Gracie disliked conflict immensely, especially between people she liked. She liked Guinan very much already. And for some inexplicable reason, she rather liked Q too. She really didn’t want to see them fight. Both combatants looked at her, Q in shock, Guinan in surprised approval. Seconds passed, and slowly the tension around them died away. The watching patrons began to turn back to their meals, conversation gradually building back up again.</p>
<p>The girl reached out a hand and, hesitatingly, rested it lightly on Q’s arm. His eyes followed her hand and then snapped up to her face; he seemed completely flabbergasted. “Please just go,” Gracie said quietly. “If Guinan doesn’t want you here, please. Don’t fight. Just do what she says.”</p>
<p>Q stared at her for a long, stunned moment, as if he still couldn’t believe the child had had the audacity to shout at him, let alone <em>touch</em> him. Then, in a flash, he was gone. Troi’s mouth dropped open.</p>
<p>“…well. That’s a first for me,” Guinan said, breaking the heavy silence that Q’s departure had left. She folded her hands on the bar and looked at Gracie; her face was serious, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. “He actually listened to you.”</p>
<p>“It would appear that Q bears a level of respect toward you, Gracie, though I do not know why.” Data spoke up for the first time in a while, having watched events unfold in analytical silence. The girl blinked around at them all. “Is that…a big deal?”</p>
<p>Deanna chuckled, and Guinan gave the girl a meaningful smile. “It sure is.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Gracie frowned, thinking, but was distracted by a growl from her stomach. “Are—are we still eating?” she asked hesitantly, worried the argument had killed the others’ appetites.</p>
<p>The bartender winked. “Coming right up.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the delay! I started another fic (also featuring Q!), so what with work and writing two separate stories, updates may be a bit slower now. </p>
<p>Forgive me for the bit about going to the bathroom--it's something I've always wondered, and since kids are *obsessed* with all bodily functions, it made sense that Gracie would ask. xD No idea if what I came up with is the truth, but it seemed the most logical explanation to me.</p>
<p>As always, thanks to my beta, Dean Winchester*! And I hope you all are still enjoying Gracie's story! </p>
<p>*name changed to protect privacy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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